Holy Icons, Part Whatever

When we first looked at this house there an awful lot about it that I loved. The curving staircase, the wide pine floor boards, the rambling floor plan, each room a new surprise as you traveled from west to east, the fireplaces, the porches, the lovely, lovely bathroom with its claw-foot tub and antique wooden hall table which the sink rests in.
But when we saw this statue

on top of the refrigerator, I said, "Sold!"

Well, not quite. But sort of.

I think it had belonged to the across-the-street-neighbor's parents and somehow found its way here and the former owners had, for whatever reason, put it on the refrigerator. That's where it was when I saw it first, anyway.

Now I just do love religious statuary. I have no idea why. But to me, the very best thing about being Catholic would be those great plaster statues of the saints. Presbyterians do not have those statues nor do Methodists nor do Unitarians. I wonder why.

Well, for whatever reason, I think it's a sorrowful thing that modern churches have replaced these great statues with those modern-artsy crosses and home-made banners. Those do nothing for me, but show me a gaudy, velvet-dressed statue of the Virgin and honey, I'm all, Pass the Communion Wine!

I suppose that's one of the things I love most about Mexico. They don't even bother to constrain their statues of the Virgin of Guadalupe in the church. They have them EVERY WHERE! Here's one I found in the mercado in Cozumel:

Be still my heart. Right there in middle of where you buy fish and chickens and dish towels and toys and colorful woven shopping bags stands this lady.
Oh Mexico. How I miss you!
But I digress.

So I asked the guy selling this house if the statue went with the house.
"Sure," he said. "If you want it."
And the way he said it sounded like, "What sort of idiot are you?"

The sort of idiot who just can't say no to a tacky plaster religious statue and after we bought the house, I took it off the refrigerator and placed it on the mantel piece in the dining room and strung up Christmas lights to frame it and there it sits to this day. And I still love it but honestly, I hardly ever really look at it. You get used to things. They escape your notice after awhile.

A few months ago we had a party here, probably one of our wild and crazy birthday parties and when Lily and Jason and Owen left, Lily took off Owen's diaper which was fastened with my beloved duckie diaper pins and handed them to me so I could keep them and put a disposable diaper on him for the journey home. And I, in my spaciness, put those pins somewhere and I could not remember where for the life of me. They were GONE!
Until I did a dusting yesterday (and please- don't judge me on the infrequency of my dusting) and found them, nestled into the Baby Jesus' lap.

Makes perfect sense when you think about it, right?
So there they were and I was so happy and then I started really looking at this statue.
First I looked at the angel. My god, if there was ever a more weary and depressed-looking angel, I haven't seen it.

Is that the face of someone who's really excited about the birth of the savior?
To me it looks like he/she is thinking, "Again?"
Maybe he/she just knows the rest of the story and is already sad about it. Which does sort of sum it all up.

Now Mary looks serene enough.

I don't think I'd be looking that serene if I'd just given birth to an obvious two-year-old but whatever.

I'm not sure what Joseph is thinking here. Hard to say. Well, he's a man. He's keeping his thoughts to himself as is expected, but perhaps he is considering how he's going to raise this child whose father is God and who might be God himself. How do you discipline God?

"Jesus, I told you to quit turning that wine into water. Now I mean it! And get off the damn river! Quit showing off! Go help your mother clean out the privy."

Baby Jesus himself doesn't look too thrilled with the whole prospect of the life before him.

He just looks really sad and resigned. And tired.

Staring off into space, worrying about the crucifixion already.

So the entire damn statue is hardly one which celebrates the joy of the birth of the Savior Of Mankind but it's the one I have and I like it. It could use some paint touch-ups and if I were an artist, I'd probably take on the job but I'm not. I'd have no idea where to begin or how. I did go through a period of time where I was taking white Madonna night lights from the Dollar Store and painting them with fingernail polish and decorating them with glitter and beads and tiny fabric roses.
And gave them away as gifts.
Good times.

Maybe I should do another one for old times' sake and do a give-away. Now that would be a different and unique blog give-away, wouldn't it?
Ah well. Probably won't do it.

I'll just hang here with my sad religious statue and dream of having enough money to buy the one I saw in a beautiful shop in Cozumel when I was there last year:

Now I would call her "art" and thus, I'll never actually own her but I sure would like to.
Or at least go back and visit her if she's still there.
And her sister-statue, which I KNOW is art:

Is that gorgeous or what?

And you know, I do have my own very favorite Virgin and she did come from Mexico and every time I dust her, I kiss her sweet, cheerful little face. She makes me so happy. She is a Beloved Thing and somehow imbued with the spirit of the person who carved her and I think I would like to meet that person. No. I'm sure I would. I would like to thank that person for bringing this tiny happiness of art from the wood and I would tell that person I feel so lucky to have found her and be able to bring her home with me.

She sits on an old vanity in my hallway with shells and flowers and pictures and I walk by her at least two dozen times a day and although I don't always take note of her, I know she's there and I am glad.

And now I've found my duckie diaper pins and I am glad about that, too. I think Baby Jesus will give them up but I'm wondering this morning what Mary used to fasten whatever sort of diaper she used on her precious baby's bottom. Because I think that even Baby Jesus peed and pooped his pants. And maybe that would explain the expression on his face in that statue in my dining room. And the angel's too.

"Damn baby peed in his diaper again. Was he raised in a BARN?"

Well yes. Yes he was. Or at least born in one.

Which reminds me that the chicken coop needs cleaning too.
You see- it's all related. Holy is holy, sacred is where you find it. Art is what you want it to be. Babies need their diapers changed and that is a sweet and sacred task, even when the poop is really stinky.

Love...Ms. Moon From The Church Of The Batshit Crazy